Pulled Away
by T3t
Summary: Death is pretty boring. Harry decides to liven things up by protecting his better half. A three-part story.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Decided to separate this into a three-shot. Part of it is the vague guilt I feel at not posting what I have already written, but eh. Why We Fight Chapter 4 is halfway done, so that should up soon. No promises on the next part of this, though. Read, enjoy, and review!

* * *

The Resurrection Stone started to slide out of my sweaty palm and I grasped it tightly, ignoring the sting as it cut into my flesh. One last comfort as I went to my death; nobody could judge me now. It caught on a fingertip and I let it slip on.

I lowered the hood of my Invisibility Cloak and stepped into the firelight, surrounded by specters. Meeting Voldemort's gaze, a creeping numbness washed over my fear.

A whisper of a breath, a rushing emptiness, and I was dead.

=(.o0O0o.)=

Dumbledore looked at the ring on my finger with a speculative gaze.

"Sir?" I prompted.

He rubbed his hand and shook his head. "Never mind, Harry. I do not believe it is of any importance now."

I nodded, and the white mist descended.

=(.o0O0o.)=

I watched Voldemort, saw him tense at the realization that his victory was uncertain, that his wand served another.

I thought that I would win, of course, but I needed to make sure that in case I was mistaken, Voldemort would not survive me.

He brought his wand forward, lips pulled back in a snarl -

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The twin beams of green light rushed at each other -

- brushed by each other -

- and slammed into us with an dull finality.

I saw the barest hints of shock in Voldemort's face before I slammed to the ground. The roar of the crowd broke around me, ignored in favor of the whispers in the back of my mind. I felt light-headed, drunk on something other than victory, yet perfectly aware of my surroundings.

My friends rushed over and surrounded me, helping me up to my feet. Some of them were crying, screaming my name, but I only felt lighter and lighter. I stood up and everybody let go of me, watching in awe as I apparently shrugged off the Killing Curse again.

An invisible wind made the Cloak on my shoulders flutter. I turned to Ron and Hermione and smiled. They were saying something, but understanding was becoming a chore.

The same wind that tugged at my cloak pulled at me, sinking its gentle fingers into my body and mind. My eyes roamed across the hall and locked onto the wand that had rolled away from Voldemort's fingers.

I dropped the stick of Hawthorne and summoned the Elder Wand to me with a flick of my fingers. It flew across the room unimpeded, and settled into my hand like an obedient pet.

The wind intensified, its once gentle tug now a fierce pull. I was untethered, lacking the power and will to resist.

It pulled me away.

=(.o0O0o.)=

I drifted, aimless. Nothing captured my attention; I saw nothing, heard nothing. Life and reality passed below me, apart from me. I wondered with a vague curiosity why I wasn't dead, but couldn't muster up the energy to care.

Some time later - or perhaps after no time at all - I felt a gentle tug. I glanced in its direction; downward would be the closest approximation, I supposed.

A swarm of black shapes clustering around a prone figure greeted my vision. I frowned, pulling at the familiarity. _Dementors_, a memory whispered. Dementors - bitter cold, empty despair - the associations caused me some measure of pain, and I decided to get rid of them.

I felt out for the gentle tugging, and pulled myself in like a fisherman. The world materialized around me, sudden, harsh, and real.

The dementors were swarming around a covered body on the ground, but I found that they had no effect on me. Glancing down, I saw that I was not quite myself. My body was insubstantial, similar to the shades that I had summoned with the Resurrection Stone. The realest, heaviest thing on me was my cloak, which I noticed with muted shock matched the cloak covering the person on the ground.

I moved forward and swept my wand in front of me. "Away."

The dementors scattered from the power of the Wand, insubstantial as it was. I knelt by the prone figure. "Are you alright?"

The person coughed, throat sore from screaming, and I noticed it was a girl, no older than myself. Brushing her long black hair away from her face, she looked up. Green eyes met mine and I blinked.

"Who's there?" she whispered, reaching up. Her hand passed through me, leaving a tingling warmth behind - the only thing I could feel, I realized, besides the cloak's weight on me.

She couldn't see me, I realized, but she could hear me. I quirked my lips. I couldn't tell her who I was. She was me, and I would never have believed it. "Call me Merlin."

Her mouth twisted into a puzzled frown. "Merlin?"

I gave a faint sigh. "Never mind. Do you have the Resurrection Stone?"

She shook her head. "No. Why? How do you even know about it?"

I shrugged, then realized that she couldn't see me. "It would let you see me. It doesn't matter, I suppose. I can keep the dementors away from you."

She stood up, looking around. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

I chuckled, realizing how stubborn I could be. Then I sobered up, remembering what was coming next. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

She pulled inward, reminded of her duty. "Does it hurt?" she whispered.

"Death?" I let the word linger on my tongue, bittersweet. "Not at all. Quicker and easier than falling asleep."

The echo made me smile, but she hung her head. "I don't want to die."

I cupped her cheek, and the warmth flooded my hand. She sighed and leaned into the touch. "It's not so bad," I murmured. "Trust me."

She sniffed, then straightened up and wiped her face. "Let's go."

My hand drifted down to hers and we walked together, past the dementors, following the Death Eaters.

With every step we took, I noticed something that I had missed on my own walk to death. Then again, I had the luxury of already being dead, or something like it.

A fallen branch, a scuttling spider. The way the Death Eaters were bickering ahead of us. I took a moment to examine my other self. She too had inherited more of James' features than Lily's - except for the eyes. Pale skin and deep bags under her eyes told me that she had not been sleeping well for a while, and I wondered how I had looked before I died.

Time had lost some of its meaning to me, but soon enough we were approaching the clearing where Voldemort was situated. She paused, and I realized now that I did not know her name. Surely it wasn't Harry?

"...thought she would come. I expected her to come. I was, it seems, mistaken."

She lowered the hood of her cloak and stepped into the firelight. "You weren't."

The silence was broken, and then her name: Jasmine. I should have guessed.

A moment passed, and I saw Jasmine tense up. I wrapped my arms around her, as much as I could. I wish I could have felt the shades when I stood there, but I wasn't the one about to die.

Two spoken words, a rushing green light. It occurred to me that I might turn it away, but no - that would come later, if necessary.

The light struck her, but I didn't see her fall through me. A violent tug - and this was becoming _irritating_ - had pulled me away, again.

I found myself surrounded by white mist, and noticed that I was solid. The Cloak, Ring, and Wand hummed with power here, and I could hear their song if I listened. I formed myself a chair to sit upon, even though standing was no burden.

Some time later, the mist began to form into familiar surroundings. I noticed Jasmine looking around, forming King's Cross through her will. She noticed something, and started moving toward it. I looked in that direction and noticed the final, damaged piece of Voldemort's soul.

I resisted the urge just to crush it, _unmake _it, banish it to the abyss - drawing in a sharp breath, I lowered the Wand and sat back down.

Something had changed. The song of the Hallows was shrill, now, driving me to fury before I had even noticed it, and they wanted Voldemort _dead_. It was a wonder that the Wand had not simply destroyed him outright, but then I supposed that it had gotten the last laugh anyways.

My counterpart cringed away from the ruined _thing_, her expression twisted between revulsion and fear.

A gentle footstep sounded to me side, and I turned my head. "Dumbledore."

The old man regarded me with a blank face, one which could mean any number of things. But he had no reason to be angry, or disappointed, and that left only caution. He knew something I didn't, then. With death came knowledge, it seemed, and that meant I wasn't dead. Yet.

Drawing some conclusion from my presence, he went to Jasmine without a word. I snorted and chose to hear their conversation, even though it was much the same as mine had been.

And then came the point in their discussion that had me itching to leave. How could Jasmine, after all, have made it past the dementors without the Resurrection Stone? My role in events was sure to come up, but I pushed away the faint dread that the thought caused. Dumbledore had no power over me here, and he was not the same Dumbledore that I had known. His look had been of caution, not of recognition, and while he may have suspected who I was, he seemed more concerned with _what_ I was.

"...the Cloak, I took out of vain curiosity, and so it could never have worked for me as it works for you, its true owner. The Stone... it seems you made do without it, but I trust you will recover it?" Dumbledore glanced back at me, and though he had addressed the question to Jasmine, I chose that moment to appear in front of them.

Jasmine's reply was interrupted by a gasp, and her eyes lit up. "Merlin?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows quirked up, and I gave the pair a faint smile. "Actually, I'm just Harry. In any case, finding the Stone is something we should do after we take care of Voldemort."

Jasmine gave a slow nod, while Dumbledore seemed to come to a decision. "Very well," he said. "I can think of no better protection to send you back with."

I nodded at his unspoken question and he sighed. "Are you ready to return?"

"I am," Jasmine replied, her face stubbornly set.

Without another word, I took her hand and let her guide us back to life.

When I came to, she was sprawled on the forest ground, and I lay on top of her. She was more corporeal to me now, and I would have been embarrassed by our positions had I an actual body. I forced myself to stay still, however, lest she move in response and give herself away.

"Stay still," I warned her, then realized it was likely unnecessary. Her shoulders tensed, but she did not respond. "Once the snake is taken care of, I'll deal with Voldemort." Here, there would be no more casualties in that final battle. There would not _be_ a final battle, if nothing else.

Narcissa walked over as per Voldemort's orders, and as she crouched down, I felt her essence flutter through me. It was not something I could grasp even if I had wanted to. She was a long ways from death yet, and I could not touch her.

Jasmine assured her that Draco was alive, and I stood up as Hagrid picked up Jasmine's body. I kept a loose hold on her arm, reassuring her that I was there. The grim procession marched out of the forest. I listened to Voldemort give his speech, and the outpouring of grief from the defenders of Hogwarts, but my true focus was on Neville. By now, he had challenged Voldemort and gotten a burning hat for his trouble.

Feeling a rush of excitement that was not purely mine, I watched as Neville pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the hat.

The blade swung and the snake's head flew. I shuddered as I felt Voldemort become open to my power, but I knew that simply taking him was not enough. Drawing on instinct, I pushed myself into Jasmine.

A brief moment of resistance and confusion later, I felt her accept me. The sudden spike of physical feeling caused me (_us?_) to roll out of Hagrid's arms, and I noticed that wearing somebody else's body was rather different than polyjuice. If not for Jasmine maintaining some control of herself, I probably would have landed on her face.

I ignored her questions in the back of my mind as I faced Voldemort, a ripple of silence spreading throughout the crowd at my reanimation.

With a cry of inhuman rage, he shot a killing curse at me. I felt the warm wind of death flutter over my skin as I vanished the sickly green light without a word.

"Again, Tom?" I asked, my voice rippling with the unfamiliar muscles. "Didn't the first two times teach you anything?"

"You are dead!" he screeched, brandishing the Wand at me. The green light flew at me again, but this time I caught it in the palm of my hand.

There it was again, the tug. The silent question. _Do you wish to leave, once and forever?_

"Yes, I am," I agreed, and a terrified silence descended at my words. "But so are you."

Without another word, I lobbed the ball of green light at Voldemort. Caught by surprise at my unexpected display of magic, he had no time to move or raise a barrier. The light struck him dead-on, and the question was asked again.

This time, I answered.


End file.
